


the age of miracles

by De_Nugis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De_Nugis/pseuds/De_Nugis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jody have dinner after a hunt, some time in season 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the age of miracles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colls/gifts).



> Written for the 2015 round of spnspringfling, for colls, for the prompt "lured into a trap."

It’s bonding, walking into a trap with someone. The bond of stupid, maybe. Not that this was a very good trap. Seems like a lot of monsters aren’t much smarter than your average dumb kid in Sioux Falls. Jody went in the front door, Sam went round the back. That was apparently more strategy than those idiot vamps were expecting. 

“You OK?” says Sam.

Jody’s heart is pounding with the familiar, fading, on-the-job adrenaline, but under that’s the real fear. _They went after Alex_. That fear. It’s familiar, at least. She’d better hope that fear will be a part of her now till she dies, because the alternative is the thing that’s worse. There’s nothing worse than not having to be afraid for your kid any more. Jody learned that twice over.

“Not a scratch,” she says. She’d taken out one, Sam the other, like clockwork. “You know me, Sam. Sheriff by day, slayer of douche vamps by night. All part of the job.”

Douche kid vamps, this time. Kids who’d caught sight of the scars on Alex’s neck and thought it might be cool to have a blood slave like the big shots. They were sick shits and Jody doesn’t regret killing them, not one bit, but they used to be kids. She’ll think about it, the kids they used to be, this Sunday at church. She owes them that much.

“Got time for dinner?” she asks Sam. “Alex is at Donna’s till tomorrow. And I make a mean bowl of chowder.” 

“You don’t have to,” says Sam.

“You do backup, you get dinner,” says Jody. “It’s part of being a good sheriff. People pull extra shifts, I order in.”

“I, yeah, thanks,” says Sam, “Dinner sounds good. But then I’ve got to get going.” 

Sam’s said a whole load of not much about why Dean’s not along this time. If something’s wrong there then maybe dinner will give him a chance to talk. But he pushes the conversation away every time it comes near him. 

“Things are going OK, then, with Alex?” he asks, “apart from fanged wannabes?” 

Jody looks around the kitchen. Knowing Alex is safe from those creeps, that she can come home, that’s great. Knowing that Alex trusted her enough to tell her what was going on, that’s better. Having a night off parenting a teenager, that’s also not bad.

“It sucks, Sam. It totally sucks. She won’t rinse dishes. She hates _The Great Gatsby_ , and she can’t just hate it, no, that’s not dramatic enough. She has to flunk her essay on it like it’s some kind of gesture. Two hours past her curfew she can’t be bothered pick up her phone, but when I’m at work trying to do my damn job it’s three calls in half an hour. She orders olives on pizza and then just picks them off. It sucks.”

Sam smiles. “So, normal,” he says.

“As normal as we’re going to get,” says Jody. “I’ve seen stuff, Sam. And I’m not talking monster stuff, your deal, I’m talking all in a day’s work. Raped kids. Wives who know how to laugh when the shitstain who hit them jokes how clumsy they were to walk into that door. I’m a mess. Alex is a mess. I got no illusions about us. But I’ve seen enough to appreciate what a goddamn miracle that is.”

“That’s good,” says Sam. “You’re lucky. Alex is lucky. It’s good things are working out.”

Jody looks at Sam’s hands on the table, loose around his beer. Big, competent hands. Hands that pulled the trigger on Owen. It’s funny how comfortable she is around him, a kind of intimacy that goes back to that act of horrific, necessary kindness.

“I guess you had your own goddamn miracle,” she says, “getting Dean back.” She leaves that hanging out there. Maybe now he’s fed Sam will take the hook.

“We’ve got a bible story’s worth of miracles,” he says. “That’s our problem. That’s always our fucking problem.” He sounds tired. Jody reaches across the table and squeezes his arm.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she says.

“Depends on the miracle,” Sam says, “or the bible story.” Then his mouth shuts like a trap. That’s it. He’s not going to tell her more than that.

The wrong kind of miracle can mess you up good. Jody learned that, right enough, when Owen came back. Though she’s not so sure, she’s not sure how well she’s learned. Nothing, not even Owen’s mouth smeared with Sean’s blood, nothing can undo the joy when she’d seen him again, all muddy, like he’d been playing. She can’t ever unfeel that. She can’t chew off part of her mind to get out of that trap. Offer her that miracle again and she’d probably take it. Even now, doing a good day’s work, being grateful, having Alex, she’d probably take it, let a corpse in her door. 

Just one of that kind of miracle did a number on her. A few more and she’d never have have got back to this mess of a life that’s saving her and Alex, failure by half-assed victory by flunked essay by grudging phone call. Sam and Dean have something special. Jody used to envy them that, having something right there to hang onto. She still does, a little. But she’s starting to get that she’s the lucky one here.

Sam’s standing up, taking the dishes to the sink, rinsing them, loading the dishwasher. 

“You know you can stay,” says Jody, “take a break. I’ve got a couch. Dean can survive twelve more hours without you.”

Sam shakes his head, feeling in his pocket for his car keys. Jody realizes he never took his jacket off, even eating. 

“Thanks,” he says, “thanks for the chowder. It was great. But I’ve got to go.”

Jody walks him to the door.

“Call, Sam,” she says, “or I’ll call you, want it or not. You’ve got help if you need it. Maybe if miracles aren’t working out for you you should try some plain human backup.”

Sam hugs her and steps back.

“Forget I said anything,” he says. “We’re fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll figure something out. We always do. Dean, Dean’ll come through. I’ve just got to come through for him. Have faith, right?”

He gets into the car without waiting for an answer. Jody watches his taillights disappear down the road. She’s got enough saving on her hands, decapitating creep vamps and fighting the good nutrition fight for whole wheat toast instead of Pop Tarts. Sam’s not her kid. Him and Dean are grown-ass adults. She still wants to beat it into Sam’s head. Faith’s not about going blindfold into the trap. It’s about taking backup.


End file.
